To Walk The Road Less Travelled
by The Final Lament
Summary: It's the waning years of the Sith Empire, the Emperor lies dead. A galaxy in flames as dark and light side undergo the second largest war in their history, never has sentient life risen so high nor sunk so low. As the Sith Empire begins to unravel a few brave souls try to rage against the inevitable, to hold the line unto death. This is the story of one of them: The Emperor's Wrath
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This fanfic contains spoilers for the campaigns of TOR, in fact this chapter alone has spoilers for two flashpoints, the Sith W. and Jedi K. campaigns. Also my apologies if non PC canon characters are a touch OOC.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Star Wars franchise, The Old Republic or any associated media, nor am I profiting from this fic.

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Life was if not good, then better than tolerable for the former Sith lord Gortoro, now Wrath of the Emperor, though the redundancy of the title now the Emperor was dead was proving a touch irksome at times. Not that he was in mourning over the event. A Sith didn't mourn the death of the egomaniac above them, just celebrate quietly internally and behind closed door.

What the death had done, to Gortoro's joy, was leave him without a superior and thus entirely without oversight and outside of the chain of command, except on those rare occasions he joined an open conflict, in which case he was firmly at the top.

For now though he was taking a, in his mind, well earned holiday, capitalising on his complete lack of accountability before anyone took notice, enjoying the sights, and indulging in sloth, lust, avarice and, as was the case now, gluttony. It made a welcome change from envy, wrath and pride as sins went, for one they were far more enjoyable.

Which was why he was currently sat down in one of Nar Shadda's best restaurant's enjoying the welcome surprise of watching the Grand Master of the Jedi Order sit down at the nearest table to him, the woman apparently unaware that scant metres from her were six of the Empire's most dangerous.

Slowly he met Jaesa's gaze, noting the psychopath's glee. He shook his head, while trying to minimise his presence in the Force even more than he did normally.

He took a moment to observe Satele, noting her lightsaber hidden as subtly as was possible in an evening gown. The thoughts going through his mind were reckless, if not downright suicidal, but he would be going against his most basic nature if he did otherwise. Curiosity was a terrible thing sometimes.

"Quinn, Vette." He said in low tones, quietly attracting the attention of his intelligence office/pilot and his twi'lek slave-turned-girlfriend. "Do you have my back?" It was a rhetorical question, a gesture to inform all at the table he was about to do something dangerous.

Both nodded an affirmative, the two were the only one's whose normal weapons they'd been able to sneak in. Rifles were far to bulky to even consider getting away with and lightsabers would have raised far too many questions if they'd been searched.

"Evening, Master Shan." He stated, placing a hand on her shoulder, earning a gratifyingly startled reaction as she narrowly stopped herself from grabbing her lightsaber. "Are you expecting someone?"

Satele turned, this time taking her blade out with deliberate intent as she found herself into the amber eyes, and heavily darkside corrupted face of a Sith cyborg; though she didn't ignite it. "Who are you?" She demanded simply, aware whoever the Sith was they had the drop on her.

"Is this seat taken?" Gortoro asked, avoiding the question entirely and not even awaiting an answer as he sat down opposite her.

"What do you want, Sith?" Satele demanded, anger flashing briefly in her eyes, before it was quashed.

"Do I have to want something? Can I not merely wish to bask in the wondrous presence of one of my peers?" He flashed her a winning grin, "Grand Master, if my intentions were anything other than peaceful do you really think I'd approach you in a suit and tie?"

The Jedi secreted her lightsaber back into her gown. "I know you from somewhere..."

The Sith's smile was both genuine and joyous, "We spoke once a few years ago. It was just before my first boarding action." There was an amused chuckle, "You made quite an impression."

Satele's brow was slightly scrunched as she cast her mind back through the years, "The Brental Star."

"I'm honoured you remember me Grand Master."

"Give me one really good reason I shouldn't cut you down here and now." She demanded vehemently.

"Calm yourself, Master Shan." Gortoro said reasonably, "Anger is my job, peace and serenity yours."

She took a deep breath, taking his advice despite the indignity of finding herself corrected by a Sith. "I'm still waiting for a reason."

The Wrath chuckled good-naturedly, "How about all these good people enjoying their meal?" He gestured at the restaurant in general. Despite this being Nar Shadda there was still the chance that, in the broadest terms, some of the patrons could fit into the category of 'good people' provided whoever was doing the classifying was willing to squint. "I very much doubt they would appreciate the Grand Master of the Jedi Order and the Emperor's Wrath using the place for a brawl. Call it a hunch."

Once again Satele jolted with surprise, "You're-"

"The advantages of wearing a helmet." Gortoro explained blithely, "though I assume that the advantages of anonymity will be lost to me after today."

"Then why approach me?"

"I don't know really, I just thought 'How often am I going to get a chance to talk face-to-face with th Jedi Grand Master?' and here I am. Sith are allowed to be impulsive." He flashed his trademark smile at her, the overall effect one of great imperturbability and amusement. "So what brings a Jedi such as yourself to Nar Shadda?"

A lightsaber ignited behind him. "I did." declared a male voice.

"How tediously dramatic." The Sith yawned, "I expected something subtler. Very well young knight, you have the drop on me. You could kill me in fact, cut me down in front of my apprentice and beloved. Or you could show me the same kindness and courtesy I've shown the lovely Satele here and sheathe that blade."

"Do it Ergosest." Master Shan ordered firmly, despite herself she was finding it hard not to take a like to the calm, collected and utterly imperturbable attitude of the Sith lord, he'd have made a good Jedi if things had gone differently.

Gortoro half-turned, "Ergosest?.. I was expecting the Emperor's killer to be... bigger I guess."

"Master Shan, this is the Emperor's Wrath, we can't just-" The Knight began to protest, only to be quietened by her raising a hand.

"He's already told me." Satele stated simply, cutting off all debate on the matter.

"How do you even know me?" Gortoro inquired quietly, "I've taken great care to be unidentifiable outside of my armour, the only Jedi to see my face swore to secrecy, so how did you recognise me?"

"I'll second that question." Satele stated, directing a piercing look at the young, though skilled, knight who paled as two of the galaxy's most formidable awaited an answer with rapt attention.

"It was when I was preparing to fight the Emperor. We'd considered that you might be there, and the only Jedi to face you in the last two years was Master Timmns."

Gortoro chose this moment to interrupt. "I think face is a little judgemental, Master Timmns and I cooperated quite amiably. A pity his own master wasn't so diligent to the Jedi Code."

There was annoyed growl from the knight, the Jedi irritated at the interruption, "Only Jedi to have observed you recently then. The point is he told me about how your cybernetics were helpful to you in combat and how strong you were in the dark side. So a heavily corrupted Sith with a cyber eye, that alone narrows the field massively."

"A passable deduction." Gortoro mused quietly, "But not enough on its own. What else gave it away?"

"I recognised Jaesa." There was a coldness in those words which made Hoth seem a sauna by comparison, yet The Wrath noted that Satele did not comment beyond a tight lipped frown; apparently Ergosest was allowed a longer leash than most Jedi.

"Then in the interests of reunions, put that blasted lightsaber way, you're scaring people." The Sith snapped before changing tact when this provoked no reduction in the Jedi's aggressive stance. "Fine. We can have this fight. But bear in mind that win or lose it will be you responsible for the consequences. I'm picturing a minimum of two dead, maximum of eight, and every single one of us has sufficient influence for the ripples of consequence to spread across the galaxy in less than a day."

"Stand down Ergosest." The Grand Master ordered firmly, "He's right, we can't afford this fight."

Begrudgingly he put away his blade, taking a seat at the table.

"So... say what you wanted to say Sith, then leave."

"As you wish Grand Master." He smiled amiably as some of the tension drained from the air. "Well as I'm here perhaps I could ask a small favour?"

"I'm not going to like this am I?" Revan's eldest surviving relative commented, a fact that, had he but been been aware of it, would likely have left the Wrath on bended knee. Darth Revan had been a particular hero of his, even more so now than in his youth after he'd crossed blades with the man himself at the Foundry.

"It is a small thing," Gortoro assured her, "requiring no true effort on your part, in fact a reduction in effort is what I'm hoping for. For the next four months I am essentially on holiday. I would appreciate it if you got all your spies and assassins off my back."

"And why would we do that?" Satele asked, appearing to consider it.

"Well it would free up a considerable amount of your resource for that time and earn my good will." Another wan smile. For an enforcer he was a surprisingly diplomatic soul. "But I imagine my good will is a rather meaningless commodity to you, so I'll create a facsimilie of a deal I once had with a small squad of Republic soldiers. One favour of your choice."

"And how do we know that you will honour this agreement?" Ergosest questioned suspiciously.

"Check your records. I've been nothing but honourable with the Republic." The Sith replied honestly. "Ruthless, yes. Merciless at times, but always honest and honourable. Alas it is only amongst my own people that I must anticipate treachery as most anticipate their next breath." There was a surprising weariness to the words.

"You almost sound like you want to defect." Master Shan observed, her lips pursed slightly to avoid showing any shock at his world-weariness.

"Nothing so dramatic. I just wonder what it would be like not having to bring two lightsabers, bodyguards and body armour to every diplomatic meeting."

"Just as stressful." Satele confessed, "The only notable difference is that the main threat is boredom rather than death."

"So my request?" Gortoro prompted.

"I will grant it but... oh." Satele stopped, eyes fixed on a point past his shoulder, "Well played Sith, very well played. You had me fooled entirely."

Bemusedly the Wrath extended his sense with the Force and sighed heavily as he found the source of Satele's concern. "I know you won't believe me, but this was not my doing."

"You're right Sith, we don't believe you." Ergosest snapped irritably, beginning to rise from his chair as his hand went to his lightsaber as the squad of Imperial troopers approached.

"For all we know they could be here for me." The Sith Lord pointed out, feeling the soldiers raise their guns.

In a moment of madness he dived over the table, bearing the three of them to the floor as fifteen men open up, blaster rifles and assault cannons on full auto, the sheer volume of fire too much for any Sith or Jedi to deflect, though considering the calibre of Force-user present it might have been just possible for the three of them to pull it off if they had: a) all been armed. And b) not bickering at the time.

The more quiet cacophony of blaster pistols joined the assault, followed by gratifying screams of agony and the faint sizzle of flesh as Vette and Quinn opened fire, Broonmark and Pierce flipping the table in a single seamless movement for them to use as cover, whilst Jaesa, with psychotic glee, unleashed lightning into the nearest three still standing, the blast propelling them into the nearest wall. They didn't get up.

Flanked unexpectedly, the soldiers barely managed to return fire before they were all gunned down. The twi'lek a crack shot where her lover was concerned.

Gortoro relaxed, rolling off of the two Jedi with a relieved sigh, followed by a pained yelp as a fist collided with his face, breaking his nose in a fine spray of blood. A lightsaber ignited then descended towards the stunned Sith, his death written all over it.

The blade stopped so close to his face that he could feel the heat of it upon his cheeks, instant sunburn on the pale, corrupted features though quite welcome when the alternative was considered.

Cautiously Gortoro rolled out of the saber's path, without the lightsaber's purple glare so close, he could now identify the person who had, unequivocally, saved his life.

Satele's hands were visibly beginning to blister as she held the Jedi Master's saer by the blade, teeth gritted in concentration.

Casually as he could, very much aware of his audience and not above a touch of showboating, the Wrath stretched out a hand, using the Force to choke the Jedi unconscious. Three seconds later the Jedi slumped bonelessly to the floor, to the amazement of the two other Force users present; Jaesa finally managing to make it past the splintered remnants of the table.

On reflection that was unfair, Gortoro decided, though the struggle with the Jedi had certainly seemed to last at least a minute, in actuality a mere handful of seconds had passed.

Feeling somewhat awkward, the Sith sought something to say, "Is he always this... volatile?" He asked, righting what was left of the table and carefully repositioning the scorched tablecloth back into place.

The Grand Master nodded, "It's a continuing problem."

"Any idea why I'm sporting a bloody nose?"

"He probably thought you'd attacked us." Satele noticed the stunned looks that comment was getting, except from Vette.

The twi'lek had yet to holster her blasters and was staring at the unconscious Jedi, violent thoughts visibly at war with her conscience.

Before Satele could do anything a gentle hand came to rest of the blue-skinned woman's shoulder. Vette looked up into her lover's eye. There was a light shake of the head from him, somehow without passing judgement before he tenderly kissed her cheek. "I'm fine my love. No damage done."

The twi'lek reholstered her blasters as the Sith returned his attention upon Satele; the Jedi regarding him with wary curiosity.

"That shouldn't have been possible." She said slowly.

"What shouldn't?" The bemused Sith inquired, unable to get anywhere without some sort of context.

"For you to choke him out so fast." Uncertainty clouding her tone as she contemplated this feat.

Indecision flashed across the organic parts of Gortoro's face as he weighed up the pros and cons of informing Satele as to the kernel of inspiration that had les to his unsurpassed mastery of the technique, a second's thought passed before he concluded that the chance of increasing the slight trust he believed the captivating Jedi had for him was worth his secret.

Afterall it was a dark side technique so the Jedi Order would never use it, nor would they willingly give it to other Sith.

"I'm not as... unrestrained as most Sith. The added control this gives me allow me to constrict the carotid artery rather than the throat. More a force strangle than a choke." The Wrath informed her, carefully neglecting to mention that he could just as easily have severed the artery as squeezed it. "I doubt most of my brethren could replicate it even if they knew how." He continued, trying to preemptively assuage Satele's fears. "Though I could comment on your own unusual skills. When Darth Malgus told me you could catch a lightsaber I assumed he was trying to make himself look better. Care to share your own secrets?"

Master Shan smiled weakly, "I'm afraid it's purely instinctive, much like your own apprentice's abilities."

"Oh well, might I suggest we settle the bill for the damage and then go our separate ways. A pleasure to meet you in person Master Shan, please tell Master Timmns I asked after his health and send my thanks for the cask of Alderanian ale." That said he tossed a credit chit to the cowering manager, hoisted a giggling Vette into his arms bridal style and stalked out, entourage following in his wake.

In the wreck of the restaurant Satele Shan watch him leave with confusion and surprise written plainly on her elfin features, her evening not having gone as she's expected in even the slightest detail.

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Author's Note: I'm unsure whether to keep this as a oneshot or not, if I continue likely the next few chapters will focus on the Sith W.'s holiday as well as the goings on of the Empire independent of him. Also I've left the possibility of DS Jaese/Jedi K. romance open because I find the idea hilarious, and it hasn't turned up online yet at all... something is clearly wrong with the internet.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thank you all for the overwhelmingly positive response. As requested this fic will continue until such a time as it reaches a natural close.

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"I did warn you." The Wrath declared unsympathetically, the cyborg more amused at his friend and lover's situation than anything else.

"I thought you were joking!" Vette complained, the twi'lek so sunburnt she was an almost fluorescent purple. "Anyway, why aren't you near fried to a crisp, you're paler than snow."

Gortoro laughed darkly, "Because unlike you, dear one, I paid attention to the system's EM readings and how thin the atmosphere was and applied sun cream appropriately... did you think I had ultra-violet and infra-red filters installed in my eye for fun?"

The enraged twi'lek reached down off the bed, selecting a suitably heavy item by touch alone, then threw it adeptly at her lover's head, who continued laughing as he smoothly caught his lightsaber out of the air, stepping towards the bed he placed the lethal weapon on the bedside table where it promptly rolled off to land with a gentle thud upon the green carper, the many fibres still new enough that it had a comfortable spring and cushioning to it.

Gortoro had contented himself with metal deck plating and a utilitarian single military bunk as the sole furnishings of his cabin of _The Fury_ for many years, living for the war.

Upon moving in with him Vette had put her foot down, calmly informing one of the most dangerous Sith Lords in the galaxy that if, by the end of the galactic standard year, the cabin was not furnished and upholstered to her satisfaction then she'd be hojacking his ship and his account details, only returning when the entire ship was to her taste or he ran out of credits; whichever came first.

A lesser Sith might have responded violently but Gortoro would sooner lose a hand than use it to mar her petite form, instead he's smiled and asked what size bed she'd like.

It had also amused the sassy blue twi'lek to find out that all those years as a slave where she'd assumed he was living in the lap of luxury off of their hard earned credits he had in fact been eking out an even more austere existance than she was , though that had caused her to question where the money was really going.

In the comfort of the cabin Gortoro ignored the lightsaber's peril, an unthinkable act to a survivor of Korriban, but eventually he'd learnt staying alive was not as important as living. The Sith Code promised to break a Sith's chains, it never mentioned the ones it forged in their place.

Slowly settling down on the edge of the king-size bed he removed a jar of kolto gel from one of the wooden drawers in the bedside table. The room had seen many a battlefield injury and so suppies of bacta, kolto and bandages were in permanent residence along with an army of weapons, armour and munitions, now stored within custom wardrobes and shelves rather than their former residence under the bunk.

With gentle hands he applied the translucent azure gel to Vette's scorched back, drawing a reaction from the smaller woman that was somewhere between a pained hiss and a moan of relief. The burns sufficiently bad that he could feel the heat of them almost an inch from her skin.

Gortoro smiled sympathetically, leaning in to press a soft kiss on one of her lekku, whispering apologie as she recoiled with a wince. The Sith resumed massaging it into her back, whilst scanning her with his cybernetic eye, scanning her from head to toe, the readouts for infra-red and sonic scans passing across his vision as well as various scraps of ancillary data were highlighted on his HUD, including the ever annoying TARGET STATUS: Friendly – recommended method of termination... which had proved a continuing sore where he'd proved unable to program it not to provide assassination advice for his beloved, alas having realtime combat analysis was simply too useful to forsake over minor irritation.

And there were other less passive applications hidden in the hardware. He'd sunk a lot of money into his cybernetics over the years, from automated bacta injections and stimulant packs to exoskeletal supports and he'd had reason to be thankful for every single one of them.

As he reached for more kolto, one of the scans completed.

"Sorry Vette but you need to get down to the medbay." He ordered firmly.

"You have got to be kidding me." She muttered, seeing where this was going, there were few things in the medbay that didn't have a more compact equivalent within the bedroom.

"Two days in a kolto tank." He confirmed, voice full of apology.

"For sunburn?!" Vette exclaimed in disbelief.

"Maybe next time you'll actually listen to me..." Gortoro said pointedly. A snort of amusement told him how likely that was.

He walked over to the wardrobe, selecting a soft Corellian silk robe for her to wear on the way to the medbay; for a former slave Vette was shockingly modest.

"Thanks." She murmured, still wincing from the weight of the light material resting on her tender flesh. "Guess it serves me right for wanting to work on my tan. Where'd you even find that damn planet anyway?"

"Well when Imperial Intelligence was disbanded I took the time to erase a few out of the way uninhabited systems from the Imperial databases, there are maybe three other people in the galaxy who know this planet even exists."

"Clever." Vette conceded, walking slowly and painfully to the door.

The main room of the ship, to the twi'lek's relief proved deserted other than the permanent, rage-inducing presence of 2V-R8, the protocal droids ability to speak long removed after an 'unfortunate accident' involving Pierce's sidarm, the rest of the crew were presumably pursuing their own entertainment.

"Are you sure this is necessary?" Vette complained once they were safely ensconced within the medbay.

"Well you can ask the medical droid for a second opinion but by the time it's finished it will likely be three days in kolto." Gortoro assured her whilst nimbly tying a band across her arm, pulling it tight to await, poised, the surfacing of a vein so that he could inject a knockout dose of general anaesthetic before placing her in the kolto tank.

"Okay, but this doesn't count as holiday time." She ordered firmly, quite aware that she had the Sith wrapped around her little finger and also aware that he wouldn't have it any other way. "Just so we're clear on that."

"As the cold void of space." He confirmed as he depressed the injector.

"Good 'cause I... I..." Vette passed out mid-sentence.

Delicately the Wrath placed her in one of the three tanks, placing the respirator over her cherbuic smile and petite noe. "Sleep well sweet Vette." He murmured before heading to the bridge.

As he'd expected Quinn was sat in the pilot's seat, alternating between checking the instrument readings and collating after action reports and surveillance data from his growing network of spies and informants, both Imperial and Republic. It was a useful tool, and one the good captain had assembled unasked and in secret, only unveiling the network's existence when in dire need. And the Wrath wasn't without his own list of far less secret contacts, there was a great sense of security when it came to the petty politicking of the Sith empire knowing that three of the Dark Council and two Jedi Masters would take his call.

Still Malavai Quinn was an undeniable, unrepentant workaholic and Gortoro viewed his main role when governing his activities as persuading the captain to relax and unwind.

"Malavai." He snapped, announcinh his presence from a food behind the captain's shoulder. To his credit Quinn didn't react beyond placing his data-slate down and swivelling the pilot's chair to face the Sith. "My lord. I trust all is well?"

"It is. I was merely escorting Vette to the medbay." Gortoro answered amiably, ignoring the inherent contradiction in that response. "Nothing serious I trust?"

"Why captain, is that concern I hear?" The Sith teased, amused by this breach in Quinn's facade of near complete emotionless and constant professionalism.

"Only for the Empire my lord. You are good for the Empire, and the twi'lek – Vette – is good for you , thus I must account for her health."

Gortoro didn't need the readout from his eye to see through the lie, still he'd let the captain maintain aloofness. "Merely an exceptional case of sunburn." He reassured, carefully not noticing Quinn's small sigh of relief. "Nothing to do with today's incident."

"I'm sorry my lord. I take full responsibility." Quinn said, standing up and to attention, as if he were on trial.

"As you should be, saving my life like that." The Sith rebuked, trying to maintain a straight face. "I can't imagine what you were thinking."

"My lord?" The captain inquired, not used to the casual ribbing even after all this time.

"Relax Quinn. I swear one day I'll tell a joke and you won't look puzzled." Gortoro sighed, shaking his head. "Though now we're discussing the matter, has our new guest told us anything?"

"Not a word or a whimper, my lord. Miss Willsaam is quite frustrated." The captain said earnestly.

The Wrath winced at that; Jaesa had... issues. In much the same way Hoth was a little bit cold at times. "I should probably go see him while there's something left." The cyborg mused to himself.

"I'm sure she will restrain herself." Quinn posited diplomatically.

The Sith had no such confidence. Jaesa's tendency to kill, main and torture anything she wasn't explicitly ordered not to was a growing problem, and even when under orders there had been mistakes.

She was a truly exceptional Sith and a close personal friend but even with her fanatical, and slightly worrying, loyalty and unique abilities there had been times he had considered whether the galaxy might be better off without her. Thus far the answer had been no, having a pet psychopath was a useful tool when, like today, assassins came calling.

Instead of voicing this opinion, Gortoro merely gave a non-committal, "Perhaps."

"As you say my lord."

"Quinn, I want you to stop automatically agreeing with me. The last thing I need is a sycophant." He ordered, irritated to the point of excess.

"Of course my lord."

The scream was entirely suppressed as the Sith turned to another matter he'd intend to address, "Also I am ordering you to stop working."

"My lord?"

Gortoro ground his teeth, "We're on holiday Quinn. You need to take a break. I'm having fun, Vette's having fun, Pierce is having fun, and, incurring mild risks to my sanity, even Broonmark and Jaesa are having fun."

"I enjoy my work." Quinn said phlegmatically.

Gortoro sighed, giving up and leaving as quietly as he came.

His path took him inexorably to Jaesa's quarters, the walls thoroughly soundproofed – there was only so much screaming the crew could take.

The doors were locked but a brief fingerprint and retinal scan – of both eyes – overrode it, the doors sliding smoothly open to reveal a frustrated young woman sat on her bed, head in her hands, though she perked up as he walked in, "Master." She all but kissed the word to Gortoro's discomfort, "I'm so glad you're here, I've been trying to get him to scream for hours, and nothing!"

Nervously the Emperor's Wrath placed his arm confortingly around her shoulders, it was the stress equivalent of trying to defuse a bomb.

Instinctively Jaesa wrapped her arms around him, face pressing into his chest as she began to sob.

Gortoro sighed, gently patting her back, "It's ok apprentice, you can't break everyone."

"Thank you master." She murmured, smiling weakly, "But you'd have broken him hours ago. I haven't even got a name yet."

"I have a name for him." The older Sith confessed, barely able to stand the look of adoration this earned him. "He's former Imperial Intelligence: Cypher Nine."

"How did you-?" She gasped, "You haven't even been in the room with him."

"I have my ways." He smiled, not willing to disclose his methods, one lesson Baras had successfully instilled was to never reveal everything to your apprentice and even though he knew Jaesa's loyalty was bordering on the fanatical it amused him to maintain an air of mystery. And there was always the fear that should he ever seem anything less than omnipotent she might turn those powers upon him for, though both were true servants of the Sith Empire, his adherence to the Sith Code was sketchy and Jaesa lived and breathed for the Code. "One thing you have yet to learn is the best weapon to bring to an interrogation is information."

"Does this mean you're taking over the interrogation master?" She tried not to sound disappointed.

"I'm afraid so Jaesa. Someone this high up the intelligence ladder will be trained to resist physical and psychological interrogation and torture, but you can sit in if you want, see how to get information without a set of knives and a generous amount of Force lightning."

"But master that's boring." She complained loudly.

"At the risk of sounding like Quinn, performing our duty for the Empire need not be fun." He said solemnly, before lowering his voice, not out of some paranoid belief the room was bugged, the entire ship was swept for bugs once a day at random intervals and if someone were sufficiently artful to sneak one into his apprentice's quarters – something that only a spy with a very strong stomach would do – then the bug would be sensitive enough to pick up the barest hint of a whisper, no this psuedocaution was born of the low level melodrama endemic to the Sith. "Especially as I can foresee a future where it is _our_ Empire."

"You don't lack ambition master." Jaesa all but purred.

"True but there are lots of ambitious people, what's generally lacking is the drive to put the work in." He informed her calmly as he retreated out of the door, intending his next destination to be the armoury; a novel place to keep a prisoner but barring the main room; which they used for holocalls and group planning, and the engine room which with its potential for creative and explosive sabotage was out of the question for keeping prisoners, it was the only room left that people weren't in fact living in.

When he entered he found Pierce and Broonmark standing guard, an assault cannon pressed to the prisoner's chin. The man visibly beaten to a pulp and tied firmly to a pipe.

"Go ahead." The commander of the Wrath's growing special force unit growled, "Make a move, make my day."

"That's enough lieutenant." Gortoro ordered firmly.

"Right you are sir." He replied gruffly, stepping back.

As he did so the prisoner made his move, leg sweeping out to hook behind Pierce's knee, causing the larger man to collapse onto him where a sharp headbutt followed up. As the special forces commander arched back, blood already pouring down his face from the busted nose, the spy brought his other leg up in a display of amazing flexibility, kicking him across the jaw, and again as the foot came back across.

Unconscious Pierce was lead across the spy, shielding him from violent reprisal.

"You can't escape." Gortoro said pointedly, "That was rather pointless."

Smoothly the spy kicked Pierce off of him before pulling him back to apply a chokehold with his legs, "Toss me the keys or I kill him."

Gortoro stared impassively, "I can find a replacement within a week."

The spy sighed, gritting his teeth, "The hard way it is then."

With a hiss of agony he pulled his hand out of the cuffs, all but skinning his thumb and little finger as he did so. Without wasting a moment he grabbed Pierce's sidearm, pressing the blaster pistol to the other cuff, calmly accepting the burns as the cuff vaporised.

With both hands on the gun now, he levelled it at his two captors, impassively shooting the impulsive Broonmark in the gut, the sadistic Talz collapsing like a dropped sack of vegetables.

Gortoro smiled as he stared down the barrel, both of them waiting for the other to make a move, the tables turned upon him in a matter of moments. "You're very good." He said calmly, before blasting the spy in the chest with a bolt of Force lightning. "But not quite good enough."

Author's Note: I hope the character portrayal's are ok, particularly Dark Side Jaesa's who is, quite frankly, utterly insane. Also an errors in terms of fluff or typos can someone please point them out.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Hopefully this chapter will answer the questions raised in the previous chapters, such as why Cypher Nine was gunning for the Wrath. If you haven't completed the Imperial Agent storyline and don't wish for major spoilers then you may wish to wait a while before reading.

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When Cypher Nine awoke he was firmly strapped and manacled to an operating table. The Chiss restrained himself from frowning, yet to even open his eyes as his training kicked in, taking in as much as he could from his other senses.

The scent of cleaning products and medicinal substances clung to the air, overshadowed only by the rich iron smell of blood. Next touch, alas a rather wasted effort as it merely confirmed the strength of the restraints, taste proved even more useless. Finally the Chiss turned to his hearing, carefully isolating and identifying each ambient sound. The subtle, sibilant whirr of the air conditioning, the gentle but intrusive beeping of a heart monitor and, almost too quiet to hear, the slow breathing of his captor from the corner.

"You can open your eyes. The heart monitor tells us you're awake." The Wrath said calmly from right beside him. "Now you're going to tell me why an imperial citizen would got to the trouble of tracking me down and attempting to assassinate me."

Cypher Nine almost leapt out of his skin as the voice began from right beside him. It shouldn't have been possible for anyone to sneak up on him but nonetheless it had happened.

True to his training the spy remained devotedly silent. He'd been trained by professionals and there was no way he would allow a mere amateur with a penchant for sadism to break him.

"You've obviously been trained and trained well." The Sith said calmly, voice even, soft and friendly, "And yet we have no record of you in our database. Why is that?"

The spy, and on occasion assassin, smiled slightly, he and Keeper had been thorough upon deleting their identities as well as those of his associates. Perhaps things were not a complete loss, though his safehouse had been compromised and he himself captured, it appeared the mission was still intact.

The Sith frowned, "You know I don't have to interrogate you. I mean someone obviously does, but it doesn't have to be me. You've successfully put two of my best men in the med-bay, one of them is in critical condition even now. I'm telling you this so you understand that outside the door there's a group of people who will be nowhere near as gentle in their methods as I will."

The Chiss kept smiling, finding the attempt to engender trust amusing more than anything else. Slowly he opened his eyes, confirming his suspicions, embarrassingly he was currently in his own interrogation room, one of three in the safehouse and the one used for the more physically painful interrogations and most dangerous prisoners. It didn't bode well.

"Very well Cypher Nine. I'd hoped we could do this in a civilised manner, but clearly not." His captor sighed heavily, looking genuinely remorseful, not that that meant anything, particularly as he watched the cyborg cross the room to retrieve a small tray of torture implements, carefully ignoring the worried look that passed across his captive's face..

Cypher Nine for his part was stunned beyond belief that his cover had been blown. When he'd deleted his identity he'd been both clinical and forensic in his methods, even remembering to delete his aliases' library cards. It only confirmed his initial suspicions; whoever his captor was, they were Star Cabal.

"I think you should know that a Fury-class interceptor entered orbit an hour ago. Someone called Kaliyo is requesting permission to land. Friend of yours perchance?"

Cypher Nine said nothing.

"I'll take that as a no." Gortoro mused before activating the communicator built into his forearm. "Shoot it down."

"Wait." The spy at last broke his silence, the single word urgent and scared.

"Ah, loyalty." The Sith smirked, reactivating the comm-link, "Disregard my last order." He peered down at his captive, expression almost kindly. "If it's any consolation I'd have done exactly the same for one of mine. Now hear is how the interrogation will work from here onwards. I will ask you a question, you will provide me with an answer. If you refuse I have my people shoot your people out of orbit. Now you may be tempted to lie so I will forewarn you that my eye has various lie detecting features, though who knows, you may be better. However if I do catch you lying then my people shoot your people, consider if you're willing to risk your friends lives on that. Now, if you answer evasively then my people shoot your people, if you make an attempt to escape... well I think you get the picture. Are we clear?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now who do you work for?"

"Imperial Intelligence." The Chiss said flatly.

Gortoro frowned, apparently the spy was telling the truth, despite the evidence to the heavy evidence against the statement. "Imperial Intelligence was disbanded, who do you work for?"

Cypher Nine paused, knowing that the choice before him would be a deciding one, no matter what he said he'd be betraying a friend. But when the Sith reached for his communicator once more, he knew what his decision would be. "Keeper. I work for Keeper."

Again not a lie as best the Sith could tell. "Keeper." He whisper, appearing to savour the word as one would a fine wine. "I was under the impression that they were catatonic."

"You were under the wrong impresion." Cypher Nine replied with chill defiance.

"I see." The Sith commented, so deeply troubled by this that a casual observer could read it in his face even with the excessive cybernetics marring his features. "That is quite probably the most disturbing thing I've heard in years."

"I would have though you Star Cabal types would have kept closer tabs on her." Cypher Nine snapped back, taking great joy in his captor's discomfort.

"Star Cabal? What is the name of the Force is the Star Cabal?" The Sith asked, seeming genuinely perplexed at sich an accusation. Despite having an intelligence network of which he was reasonable sure could place in the galaxy's top ten. Admittedly there was a certain level of doubt to such a claim as intelligence networks on the whole seldom decided to compare notes, nonetheless, despite Quinn's exceptional groundwork and the joint decision of himself, Quinn and Pierce to take advantage of the sudden glut in assassins, spies and safehouses that had inevitable resulted in the disbanding of Imperial Intelligence, he had never once heard the term Star Cabal before.

A considerable feat when against a man who publicly claimed to employ one in the galaxy, while secretly believing the real figure to be double that. All carefully and dutifully micromanaged by Quinn to the point that thus far at least six of their own agents had been infiltrated back into their own ranks often enough that Gortoro had at one point jokingly suggested a competition to see who could be double-agented back and forth the most. Alas the captain had, without a trace of humour, looked the Sith in the eye and declared that it would likely compromise ongoing operations.

The master spy and sometime assassin frowned deeply, "Why are you even bothering with the pretence? I know all about your little group, though considering you're obviously a Force sensitive I very much doubt that you do."

"Be that as it may it would appear that I don't. Despite years of associating with the intelligence community I've never heard the term before today." The Wrath assured, "though I'll take the liberty of presuming they're a threat given your reaction."

Cypher Nine looked confused, "Wait. If you're not working for the Star Cabal then why were you trying to assassinate me?"

"Assassinate _you_?!" Gortoro spluttered in anger and shock, "You tried to assassinate _me_!"

"No you were going to assassinate me!" The spy declared furiously, "How else do you explain turning up at my safehouse?"

The Sith Lord had the decency to look embarassed as he said, "We wanted somewhere out of the way to go on holiday. Somewhere far enough off of the beaten track even a Cypher agent couldn't find us. Guess there's a level of irony there somewhere, or tragedy, maybe both." He stepped awat from the the table, his head in his hands. "Damn. Well isn't this a truly galaxy-class cock up."

"Well let's say I believe you. What happens now?" The Chiss asked.

"That's where it gets complicated." Gortoro mused, "You are, or rather were, a highly respected member of the intelligence community and are thus an extremely valuable resource."

"I suspected as much." Cypher Nine said with surprising calm, speaking now with the respect of one professional to another. "Death or incarceration?"

"Probably death." Gortoro admitted, "You're far, far too dangerous to keep imprisoned for any great length of time."

"Torture?"

"If necessary."

"And my... colleagues?"

"Were never in orbit. I merely picked a name from a list of your known associates." Gortoro calmly informed him, clearly proud of the duplicity.

"Damn. Well played." The Chiss said through gritted teeth. "How do you even know me?"

"It's my job to know." He said smiling, "Anyone with the potential to prove a threat to the Empire, be it through skill or position. You ticked both boxes, particularly after you deleted yourself and your aliases from nearly every database in the galaxy. Which successfully catapulted you to a spot just below Satele, the Dark Council and a few other former Imperial Intelligence who performed similar feats in terms of ability to destabilise the Empire depending upon their choices."

"Just who are you exactly?" Cypher Nine demanded.

"The Emperor's Wrath." Gortoro stated with great relish, gauging the spy's reaction.

"I didn't recognise you without your helmet." The spy replied evenly, carefully showing no reaction, though alas not so skilled as to not show that he was carefully showing no reaction.

"That was rather the point." He replied dryly. "The anonymity enhanced my reputation."

"Ah so you're definitely killing me then." The spy observed.

"A passable deduction but my lack of a helmet does not in fact indicate that I am going to kill you, my anonymity is going to be shattered in a few scant months." He lamented lightly but soon broke into a smile, "Still all things being equal I believe it to have been worth it."

"Considering I'm consigned to a shallow grave, care to share?"

"Nice try, though now I think of it I might have a use fro you, once I've finished reading your psyche profile." The Sith said as if only just thinking of it.

"Ah... hope. Very nice try. The goal is to make me bond with my captor and to increase my cooperation. Why bother? We're both clearly old hands at this game."

"Perhaps, but I really can think of a use for you, it all depends on whether your psyche report says you're inclined towards vengeance."

"And why would that matter?"

"We have been systematically torturing you for over a day." Gortoro pointed out fairly.

"_She_ has been systematically torturing me." Cypher Nine riposted, indicating the silent Jaesa in the corner, the Wrath's apprentice managing to pay rapt attention whilst also looking thoroughly bored from the lack of screaming.

"Yes, sorry about that. I've tried, by the Force I've tried, but she remains an unrefined interrogator at best." He sighed, shaking his head in shame, "Alas I will simply have to console myself with the knowledge she'll make an excellent fighter and Sith one day, though if she were ever let off her leash well... I believe that's usually where we come in."

"Thank you Master, that means a lot to me." His apprentice said with utmost sincerity.

"I though so." Gortoro replied evenly. "Now if you'll excuse me I need to go check on Broonmark. Jaesa follow me.

With that he turned to walk out, concealing his relief at the soft sound of his apprentice's footsteps behind him. If Jaesa had chosen to stay things would have gotten very complicated very fast, he didn't dare risk the slight rapport he'd appeared to be building with the veteran spy, a rapport he very much doubted would withstand another bout of physical torture.

Once they'd made it a reasonable distance from the interrogation rooms the Sith Lord turned to his apprentice with a serious expression. "Your thoughts?"

"We should put him on an intravenous drip of truth serum, get everything we can from him then kill him and hunt down his friends, family and associates to protect the security of this safehouse." Jaesa said promptly and sweetly.

"I rather expected that would be your response, and while I'd certainly agree it's a valid option and the safest available by far, personally I'd rather take a much riskier path, after all if we can't handle a couple of errant Imperial agents then we don't deserve our power. Agreed?"

"Definitely Master." She said with relish.

The Wrath smiled, he'd known an appeal to her ego would have the desired result.

"Excuse me Master, but how did you know who he was?" His apprentice inquired with the boundless curiosity of youth.

If he were honest with himself he'd been expecting the question, one didn't give a masterclass in non-violent interrogation without the student asking some questions, even one as morally opposed to the subject matter as his psychopathic apprentice.

Alas he'd have to pass on the exact tool he'd employed to gather the information, a careful mix of both opportunity and preparation, it was the only way to further her education. As frightening as the concept was, Jaesa was his apprentice and thus his successor and would, presuming he weren't killed by freak chance or the careful planning and meticulous manipulation of a rival, one day usurp his position in a class Sith coup de tat.

For though his apprentice firmly believed herself undyingly devoted to him, it was not in the nature of Sith to play second fiddle to anyone for too long and thus it was his responsibility to train and groom Jaesa into the perfect replacement, with the same skills, tools and loyal personnel.

"Very well Miss Willsaam, you have the right to know. The day Imperial Intelligence was disbanded, Pierce, Quinn and myself hatched a plan. Firstly we'd obtain and personally store the entire Imperial Intelligence database, secondly we'd obtain as many of the now jobless agents as possible before integrating them into our own operations, thirdly we'd use the opportunity to erase and appropriate a few select safehouses from the Imperial archives – an easy matter with Intelligence reduced to handful of splinter groups with no unit cohesion. Fourthly we'd take over as many of the blackops science projects as we could, which with the scientists all but begging for resources wasn't difficult. And, finally, we would find out why it was dismantled in the first place."

"Audacious certainly." Jaeasa declared in awe, "How much did you manage?"

"All but the last part. We finally completed the mainframe to house the archives a week before the good agent tried his vanishing act. We finished the download just an hour before his delete and disconnected five minutes before. Doubtless if we'd still be connected to any external networks our copy would have been purged as well. I'm sure we missed a few pulling similar stunt, we certainly picked up a few attempting it and I'm neither naïve or egotistical enough to believe we caught all of them, but of the ones we did catch Cypher Nine's was the most sophisticated. Quinn would give an arm to know how he did it."

"So... he just got unlucky?" The Sith-in-training asked in disbelief.

"It's how it usually happens when you get to our level. That or you simply run into someone better. It's a simple Poisson distribution, eventually it just has to happen."

"It just seems so... pointless."

"It is."

"What's the point of it all then, if this is how it ends?"

"Having your first doubts about the Code?"

For a moment she considered lying but there was almost no way she'd get it past his lie detectors, "Yes Master." She confessed, a tremor of fear running through her voice whilst she she wondered if he'd just strike her down or whether he death would be slow and lingering.

Instead he raised an inquisitive eyebrow, not a difficult feat considering he only had the one, "Why so nervous?"

"By doubting the Code I've failed you Master. Some Sith would kill me for such an offence."

The cyborg merely laughed, a dark sinister chuckle that typically would be classified as 'mild amusement at the other person's expense'.

"Ok, I'm offically revoking your access to the archives. No more holo-novels for you."

"Master I'm being serious!" She protested, dismayed at this casual dismissal of her concerns.

"As am I." He replied, features returning to the carefully schooled calm of a Sabbac champion. "I could have picked anyone as my apprentice. If I had walked into Korriban's main temple and declared my intent to take an apprentice, over thirty acolytes would have volenteered within the first minute just to be the apprentice of a lowly Sith. If I did it now they'd be queueing out of the tempe door. Force above, I could have taken Nomen Karr as my apprentice if I ad so desired. Instead I chose you. Out of all the galaxy's billions upon billions of inhabitants I _chose_ you. Do you really think I would kill someone that special over a moment of doubt? The same moment of doubt every Sith has at some point in their lives?" He smiled kindly as he finished his speech, pulling the slightly younger Sith into a gentle hug.

Jaesa visibly calmed in his arms, hugging back. Sometimes he had to remember how emotionally fragile she was and how young.

She hadn't been tempered by the fires of combat as a child like he had. Before even making it to the position of Darth Baras' apprentice he'd been forced to kill over two hundred people, while conversely by the time she'd made padawan she'd been yet to draw blood.

Slowly the young woman smiled back, "I guess I was being a bit silly Master." She admitted, still not letting go as Gortoro unclasped his arms from about her shoulders, trying to pull gently away without causing offence.

"We'll discuss this later." He assured her, finally prying himself from the hug. "Now we really should check on Broonmark."

The safehouse was a surprisingly large complex, entirely manned by droids of various degrees of technological advancement. From monotask cleaning droids, to repair droids; both terrestrial and starship as well as a set of translation droids and there had been a full set of combat droids. Alas the emphasis was on 'had', the combat droids had taken great offence at their presence and were thus occupying the facility's recyclers as several large piles of anonymous metal scrap.

The medbay was one of the most advanced he'd ever come across, more effective even than the one aboard the _Fury_.

Broonmark was led down upon a medical bed, a full set of life support machines attached to the Talz, his condition still critical. The shot had all but vaporised his stomach and liver (or rather the Talz equivalent of a liver, though stomachs tended to be universal), machinery was currently doing the respective jobs of the two organs whilst he remained in a chemically induced coma. However it was all a short term measure, without urgent and drastic action the bloodthirsty Talz wouldn't even see out the month and was far too injured to risk moving to another facility – he likely wouldn't even make it to hyperspace – and also too injured for both bacta and kolto immersion, there wasn't enough stomach or liver left for the accelerated cell growth to achieve anything.

As Gortoro checked his vital signs he idly noted Jaesa's apparent indifference to her partner-in-bloodshed's predicament. Not that he entirely blamed her, the Talz was a very hard person to like, though fiercely loyal; in fact loyalty as a concept was probably even more important to Broonmark than mass murder.

In one of the bacta tanks Vette was suspended in the viscous blue fluid, having been moved to the planet so she wouldn't wake up deep in hyperspace with no input and no chance of seeing her lover for over a week.

The _Fury_ itself was currently en route to Hoth, the nearest iceworld known to have Talz deployed to it, with Quinn in charge and Pierce providing fire support.

With little else to do, and with some combat droids still at large; including whichever one was coordinating the assault, Gortoro gave Jaesa the first watch, led down on one of the beds, closed his eye, shut down his secondary systems, and got some well earned rest.

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Author's Note: A very dialogue heavy chapter, and thus I will try to make the next one action heavy, such as including Pierce and Quinn's mission on Hoth. Any contradictions of the canon that you spot, please tell me, same for typos, either I'll correct it or, if it's deliberate, explain why it's there. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy reading this.


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